Maybe One Day
by soda-rebel
Summary: In times of war, it is best to hold onto something treasured lest it be destroyed.
1. Determined

1935

The room was laid out perfectly, annoyingly perfect almost. A glittering chandelier, probably pure diamond, cast shadows of iridescent light throughout the ballroom space. Soft piano played with expertise reverberated throughout to create a mellow tone. The floors gave off a polished amber glow paired with warm cocoa coloured walls. Expensive looking paintings of landscape ranging from green meadows dotted by lavender, to seasides with splashes of ocean, surrounded deep velvet curtains that opened to reveal French Windows. The large bay doors opened to a spacious balcony supported by Roman Arches. With waiting-staff offering imported champagne in crystal glasses, the look was complete. To ambassador Arthur Kirkland, the sight was sickening. What had happened to meeting in an average conference room? They were representatives, not royalty! And where had the money to support this come from? Certainly not from the association's treasury. They were supposed to discuss problems from their respective nations, but what he received was a posh gathering of aristocratic dimwits. At least the piano music was nice. He was offered a glass for the third time this night. Just to be left alone, he took it.

'Even the glasses look expensive!' he silently remarked. Sighing, and wondering what society was coming to, Arthur took a quick sip. No use just holding it anyways. The usual slight burn that accompanied alcohol was present, but a light fruity taste mingled with it. Despite his prejudices, even he had to admit the champagne was amazing. Many others were already drunk, addicted to its tantalizing flavour. Speaking of addictions, a sort of line had formed near the end of the room to ask one of the few female representatives to dance. If he recalled correctly, she was there as a representative for Belgium. Arthur watched as she denied (politely mind you) man after man, all while shaking her golden locks. She was pretty, he had to give her credit for that, but her tactics were more than commendable.

He smiled when he caught on. 'Clever. Who knows what sort of mayhem would result from envious men, denied of a dance?'

Arthur snapped out of his cynical thoughts and secret musing when he felt a light tapping on his right shoulder. The person behind the action was a rather tall blonde man. His suit was rather nice and professional, but everything else about him practically screamed 'disorganized'! Unkempt hair-with one obnoxious unruly curl-framed a nicely sculpted face. A pair of slightly crooked glasses served as windows to playful oceans of blue eyes.

"Excuse me, care to dance?" Not a bad voice either. Ah, and that smile….wait. Had he just asked for a dance?

Arthur shook his head dubiously. "Are you asking me?" The poor boy must have been drunk.

The blonde laughed for a moment, which made Arthur scowl, before replying "Yes you. May I have this dance?"  
He scoffed at the confidence of the- wait, what nation was he here for anyways? It would come to him. Seeing as there was no harm in it and that the man was probably so drunk that he wasn't able to distinguish genders anymore, he consented. But only for one dance.

Arthur allowed himself to be guided to the center of the ballroom by the man. The minute they reached the center, a slower waltzing song meant for couples played. Maybe he regretted this decision just a little…now people were watching, and he was getting nervous. A gentle hand reassured him.

"It'll be fun! I'm Alfred by the way. Alfred F. Jones," the now revealed Alfred stated proudly.

Arthur wondered what the 'F' in his middle name stood for. The piano music grew louder somehow, loud enough to drown out the sound of his thudding heart. He let Alfred lead, considering their certain circumstance. It only took a moment for the two to dance in sync. At that moment, the two became immortal in a way. Their steps seemed nonexistent, moving with unrealistic steps. For now, they were no longer just Alfred and Arthur. They were two souls that flowed and glided to the song, enveloping each other all the while. Two silhouettes had never seemed so perfect, so harmonious, so….fitting.

By the time the music dimmed, most of the other representatives had left. To his embarrassment, Arthur was still holding onto Alfred's hand. "I-that is to say you, I mean, what I meant to say was-" His flustered explanation was cut off by a short laugh from the blonde. Needless to say, Arthur just huffed in annoyance to the childish response. Together, they made their way to the balcony. Dazzling starlight speckling the midnight blue sky along with the barely visible traces of wild lilies welcomed the couple.

"Even the scenery is too perfect" Arthur groaned. It was hard to dislike the place just as it was equally difficult to enjoy it.

Alfred smiled at the snide remark. "Well, I think it's very...atmospheric. I haven't exactly been to any place like this in my life." The news was shocking, to say the least.

"If you're an ambassador, shouldn't this be normal to you? What country are you representing anyways?" Arthur tried to hide any growing panic with his questions. For all he knew, this man could be an agent sent to target and kill the representatives, starting a whole new World War.

Again, Alfred laughed off the suspicion as if it were nothing. "Listen, I'm not allowed to say anything but, I represent America."

It wasn't exactly as the British ambassador thought, but it was still surprising news. "Haven't the states claimed to isolationism? What are you doing here?" Alfred looked a little shy and at a loss for words temporarily.

"We...we still need to be included in details. That's why they sent me. I'm actually just a small-time reporter. The government figured someone like me would be easier to sneak in rather than one of their more recognizable reps." For the first time, the American seemed rather self-conscious.

Arthur was more than happy to discover the secret the man was hiding as well as where the familiar accent had come from. His silent musings were silenced when Alfred, who had somehow gotten closer, stated: "You look amazing when you smile."

Though the comment sent butterflies of warmth through him, it was time to put an end to the charade. "You realize I'm not a woman right?" Hopefully, the lad wouldn't be too upset and they could continue the night without too much of a fuss-

"I know," he replied bluntly. "Why? Did I treat you too much like one?" And there it was again. That thudding, hammering feeling in Arthur's chest.

"N-no. Wouldn't you rather dance with a female?" That was the social norm was it not? Granted, he preferred to keep his options open, but this was the first time Arthur had actually been in this type of situation.

Alfred grinned a twinkling grin. "But I _liked_ dancing with you."

Being so used to a routine and methodical planning, the British representative stood dumbfounded by this new development. "I suppose...I rather enjoyed dancing with you as well, Alfred."

The conversation stayed light for the remainder of their time together. Only laughter could be heard accompanied by the ever-present tune of the piano. Though neither of them knew it at the time, this was what could be described as 'love'. So as Arthur pulled Alfred into a passionate kiss fueled by a strange sensation, an irreplaceable feeling that warmed their hearts and bound their souls made itself felt. That bond was too quickly broken in more ways than one.

"We...we can't. If anyone knew," Arthur began.

"Then we'd both be in a mess, I know," Alfred finished.

"In another time, another place. Maybe, just maybe, we could have been together," Arthur sighed wistfully.  
"I'll wait for that day," Alfred promised.

' _But that won't ever stop me from loving you.'_


	2. Missed

1939-1940

It had been four years since Arthur Kirkland had met the magnetic Alfred Jones. Neither of them met up since then, but they were able to keep in touch through letters. Arthur still remembered the day he received that first scrap of paper. It was a Monday, the start of the week. Plain, average. Among the usual mail, a manilla envelope stuck out as if to say 'Read me!'. The contents were a simple white sheet of paper sprinkled with scribbled handwriting.

'Arthur,

Please don't be upset. I swear that I found your address by accident when I was searching the records for- Alright, maybe I did want to send you a letter on purpose. I just wanted to talk to you again even if it isn't face-to-face. I'll stop if you want me to.

Sincerely,

Alfred F. Jones'

That was how Arthur found himself meticulously writing letters in his spare time and re-reading the ones he received. They had both long outgrown the closing 'sincerely' and in its' stead, writing 'with love'. Of course, Alfred had started that tradition and it only seemed fitting that he adopted that as well. But then...things became more complicated. Poland had been invaded by Germany despite Hitler's promise of not taking any more land. Prime Minister Chamberlain resigned, ending with Churchill in office. Total war was declared. Relentless bombings took place soon after in London, accompanied by sirens that would haunt Arthur for the rest of his life. Somehow, the ever faithful Alfred still managed to send letters. Through it all, those words of reassurance and something else really made living worthwhile. A week or two after the bombings first took place, his heart dropped and world crashed from three sentences.

'I'm being drafted for war Arthur.

I'll try to write.

I love you.

Alfred'

Were the words lying to him? Surely they were wrong and Alfred was still safe in America. Surely this was all just a horrible nightmare. But the evidence was still there and everything _felt_ so real. Wait. What was he thinking? Alfred was still alive. No need to panic. As long as he stayed positive, or so Arthur told himself, everything would be fine. Now it was merely a matter of waiting longer for those precious writings. So few came in the mail nowadays, but when one arrived, it was received happily. They were always kept together with a red piece of ribbon (which had slowly turned maroon after so much use). Whenever an evacuation was in order, the letters were always taken along. It was just habit now for Arthur to carry them in a coat pocket or hold them in his hands. The stack was about the size of a small novel. To him, it was the greatest piece of literature in the world. Better than Dickens, better than Shakespeare despite its simple words and smudged ink. The meaning and feeling that sent shivers down Arthur's spine could only come from Alfred's words. Never before could writing send him into such a state of bliss and peace.

Just as suddenly as they had come, the letters ceased. Hope and the small notes he had collected over the years were the only things keeping Arthur together. After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, a solitary envelope slipped in from the mail. It was not what he had expected. Unfamiliar choppy lettering welcomed his eyes instead of the usual flowing curves.

'I regret to inform you that Alfred F. Jones has been killed in action. His last words during his flight were received via radio along with this address. I'm terribly sorry.

Arthur...never forget that night. You stole my heart and stopped it all at once. I was drawn to you for some reason, and God was I scared. What I mean to say is...I love you. I love you, I love you, I love…..

Once again, I apologize. That was all he was able to say.

Matthew Jones'

The news was a stab to the heart, a knife to the chest, a burning slash to his being. Arthur bit back bitter tears, though their warmth was comforting in a way. Alfred's last words...they were about him? Even in the midst of war, even in fear of whatever had brought down the American, his last thoughts weren't about death.

"If only I could be with you in a different time," Arthur cried, the tears littering the page.

"I'd make sure the one who makes it out alive is you. I'd sell my soul just to see you again...I just couldn't help falling in love with you could I?"

Two days later, an attack happened in the middle of the night. Arthur's home was destroyed with him in it. The neighbors had said that the man made no attempts to escape the flames consuming the establishment. They were right. His last thoughts were of a starry night with a blonde sporting the most charismatic smile and a romance he never had time to experience.


	3. Waiting

Today

"So, do you still want the house, Sir? Even with its history?" Elizabeta, a real estate worker, asked. The blonde she was assigned to pursed his lips for a moment in thought. The price was right, and the house was in sturdy condition despite being supposedly burned down.

"I'll take it," he finally said.

"That's great!" Elizabeta had thought the house would never sell. Before she could fetch the paperwork, the buyer stopped her just for a moment.

"Is there any proof of what happened?" he asked cautiously. Ah, so this buyer was curious about the past.

"As a matter of fact, yes! I'll be right back." Shortly after, Elizabeta returned with a small pile of letters tied by a now faded brown ribbon. The edges to some were burnt, and the very first letter in view was water-stained.

"This was the only thing they recovered from the fire," she explained.

The minute the delicate papers touched the buyer's hand, a nostalgic look played on his face and his features seemed to have softened.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Though she did not know, Elizabeta had just renewed the spark of a love that was centuries old. A love that would continue to grow, rekindle, and flourish until it came time for the embers to dim. But like embers, those feelings of passion would always return with enough fire. No matter how many lifetimes the two would go through, one thing could be certain. They would always find a way to each other no matter the year or date. It was just a matter of remembering and waiting.

'I'll be waiting for you.'


End file.
